


Echo

by Hella_Queer



Series: Operation KALEIDOSCOPE [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gunslinger Girl!AU, I cried writing this, I'm so sorry, Suicide, The lads are 14/15, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories like theirs didn't have happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nowhere Kids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031611) by [Kahnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahnah/pseuds/Kahnah). 



  
_If you'll be my boat_  
_I'll be your sea_  
_A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity_

 

When Hell crawled its way up to the surface, they tried to stay together.

Geoff got a car, Ryan grabbed whatever food he could, and Jack got the guns. They knew what to do despite the feeling of dysphoria, and headed north as fast as possible. The boys didn't know what to think at first, none of them did. Flesh eating humans only existed in video games and shitty books, yet here they were popping up all over the city. Ray always thought it was stupid when the media referred to them as Infected rather than zombies, but now he understood why they did it.

Denial was a powerful tool.

They had to stop for gas eventually, because while their bodies were running on adrenaline the car was not. It felt like they were hit with every damn cliche on the list: raiders, hidden infected, Molotov's. Scattering like ants, Geoff shouted something in the chaos, racing off into the distance with Ray by his side. Jack couldn't hear him, nor did he see where Ryan and Gavin ended up. His only concern was getting Michael away.

The boy looked so lost, a fit coming on at the worst possible moment. He clung to his guardian as they ran, stumbling and slowing them down with his lack of coordination. But they never stopped moving, never looked over their shoulders even as the smoke dispersed and the sound of gaining footsteps disappeared. All Jack could think about was the young man running beside him, and that gave him the strength to keep going.

Finally, they were forced to stop and catch their breath. Michael was openly sobbing, eyes glassy and far away. He had fallen asleep before the attack, and only remembered a small, warm body next to his and a soft voice that spoke of the stars. Jack pulled him into his arms and wiped away his tears, pretty words falling from his mouth as he reassured his son that they were alright, that everything would be okay.

 

_Ebbing and flowing  
And pushed by a breeze_

 

Michael's condition got worse.

In just a few short weeks his skills with a firearm resembled that of a toddler with a toy too big for their hands. He sometimes wouldn't answer to his name, and when he did he addressed Jack as one of the others. His gunslinger had been replaced by a helpless child, and Jack couldn't have been more devastated. Still, there were days when Michael would come back to himself, cursing up a storm and vowing to protect his guardian when they went out of their hiding spot to get food and water. Those little sparks of hope were extinguished every time, and still Jack held onto those precious moments of clarity.

Eventually it came to be that Jack had to hunt alone. Michael was too vulnerable out in the open in his state, and it was growing increasingly difficult to watch both of their backs. He sat his boy down and made him look into his eyes, searched for the part of him that understood. He told him to stay inside and wait for him, no matter how long it took. He was not, under any circumstances, meant to go outside. Michael nodded along to every word.

The feeling of absolute terror Jack experienced that first day was indescribable. He constantly looked to his side where Michael would've been and had an anxiety attack every time he found the spot empty, before remembering his instructions. He never stayed out more than two hours, and never strayed farther than a five minute run. The food supply in the area was getting scarce, and he figured it was time to move on.

Michael was always so happy to see him, hugging him tight after Jack checked the fortification on the doors and windows. The little shack was built right up against a cliff wall, which prevented the possibility of a sneak attack. Over a small dinner one night, Jack informed Michael that they would be looking for new shelter the following day. The food was harder to find now, and he didn't like leaving his boy alone. Michael was very glad to hear that, told him he had been doing the exercises Jack taught him to keep his body sharp. He was ready to run or jump or flip whenever Jack needed him to.

 

_I live to make you free  
I live to make you free_

 

Jack no longer believed in a God.

He was tired, so incredibly tired. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt, and his skin was sunburnt from the cruel exposure of the great fireball in the sky. Michael was in a similar state, so any water they came across went to him. Where the old Michael would have protested and insisted that Jack stay hydrated, this one guzzled down every last drop, then threw the container aside with zero disregard. But Jack wasn't upset. He wanted his boy to be as healthy as possible.

The whisper of shifting bushes caused the hair on the back of Jack's neck to stand on end. He reached for his gun with one hand and grabbed Michael's shoulder with the other. He pressed his lips to his temple as he whispered for him to hide behind the large tree a few yards away. He was instructed to shout if anything was coming near him. With a quick bob of his head, Michael sprinted away.

Now without any distractions, Jack crept forward towards the bushes, armed and irritated. His blisters had blisters and his stomach felt hollow and he smelled almost as bad as the creatures he killed, but most of all he was anxious. He couldn't turn his head to check on Michael without leaving himself open, so he instead held very still.

Waiting.

A large brown rabbit hopped out of the bush and scurried across his foot before disappearing towards the road. Jack spluttered in surprise, then bent at the waist as he laughed too hard. He felt utterly ridiculous now, and wished that his mind had been more in control than his instincts. Rabbits made for good eating. With a heavy sigh he wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned—

"JACK!"

Michael was high up in the tree, face white as he stared at the infected below him. Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was just one. One was easy to handle, as long as they cleared out of the area soon after. These things were like snakes, traveling in packs and staying hidden until it was time to strike. He threw a stick to get its attention, and lured it a few feet away from the tree before aiming for the head. A clean shot his gunslinger would be proud of.

He was already running towards Michael when he heard the sound of his universe cracking. The branch Michael stood on bent, splinters in the part where it protruded from the trunk. His baby's scream was like nothing he had heard before. The shrill laughter as he played with the others, his excited shouts on the drops of a rollercoaster, his energetic yells while taking down rival gangs, even his frightened sobs in the past three months. None of them were like this. None of them had been this loud, this heart-rending. It ended as abruptly as it started.

And Jack watched his angel fall

 

 _But you can set sail to the west if you want to_  
_And pass the horizon, 'til I can't even see you_  
_Far from here_  
_Where the beaches are wide_

 

Lakes were the prettiest in autumn.

Multicolored leaves floated down like confetti and littered the surface of the water. In a place like this reality was nonexistent, just a myth told on the tales of the wind. Where once isolation drove him to madness, now all he felt was calm. No one was here to disrupt them, not even the birds perched in the branches above made a sound as they passed under them.

Days of walking led Jack to the little cabin that was once his favorite safe house. It was roomy, and resembled a cozy vacation home. The locks were sturdy, the wood paneling up to code, and the view from the roof was simply magnificent during sunset. Jack had always wanted for the six of them to stay here. He knew that Michael loved the outdoors and the open space. His boy would've loved it here.

Michael didn't protest when Jack laid him down in the boat. Jack had ripped up his coat sleeves and tied it around his neck like a scarf. With his eyes closed, and head forever tilted just so, he looked almost peaceful. Jack stroked his grey-green cheek and kissed his forehead, ignoring the smell.

"I love you," he whispered, then went to work.

Pushing the boat out into the lake was hard. Finding the strength to row out into the middle of the lake was harder. But a little voice in the back of his mind cheered him on, ranting and raving about how he was the best of the best, tougher than anyone else, and he was able to do it. After what felt like hours he stopped and simply let them drift. He tossed the oar into the water, the tool having served its purpose, and turned to Michael.

His boy was still, face turned slightly to the side but looking upwards. Jack moved very carefully until he was laying down next to him. With some effort, he hefted Michael onto his chest, sweaty, matted hair pressed against his face. His gun felt like a foreign object as he raised it into the air before pressing the muzzle against the space between his eyes. He took a deep breath, stomach churning, and spoke to the empty air.

"I'm sorry I made you break our promise. But I'm going to fix it now."

And then he pulled the trigger.

 

_Just leave me your wake to remember you by_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Boats and Birds—Gregory and the Hawk_


	2. Glass

  
Ray blinked and slowly turned his face skyward, eyebrows furrowed. He waited for a while, but after a few long minutes the world around him remained silent. Odd. He was almost certain he had heard a gunshot in the distance.

 

_Tell me everything that happened  
Tell me everything you saw_

 

"Get to the Alter!"

Geoff's hand was sweaty and held tightly to his own as they ran far, far away from the gas station. If anyone called back to his guardian he didn't hear it. He couldn't hear much of anything over the sound of his thudding heartbeat and ragged breathing, the pounding of their feet on the sidewalk. Ray was expecting bullets, or fire, but none came. Still, they kept running.

Back at the penthouse, sitting on the couch with a controller in his hands, Ray would search for ammo and cover to hide behind. So that's what the did, holding onto each other like a stiff breeze would rip them apart. They didn't talk much, couldn't find the words buried beneath their fear. But they were together, so things were okay.

 

_They had lights inside their eyes  
They had lights inside their eyes_

 

Ray hated the city.

Endless traffic jams with inconsiderate drivers and too many buildings, old and new and shining and decrepit. He hated the people; everyone rushing to somewhere that they didn't really want to be, just to make money to pay for shit they didn't want. Sure they paid bills, but the people who worried about money didn't live in the city. There was graffiti and trash and old gum and wasted food. It was disgusting and tiring and not at all where he wanted to be.

But what he hated most now was the silence. A lot of time had passed, several months to be inexact. The temperature was dropping steadily everyday, a great contrast to the summer heat. It felt like the whole world had shut down, leaving abandoned cars and broken poles and dead bodies where life and prosperity was meant to shine. He really didn't want to be here, but what choice did he have?

 

_Did you see the closing window?  
Did you hear the slamming door?_

 

"Keep up, old man!"

Ray paused at the end of yet another street corner and checked his guns for the fifth time that hour. Everything was still in place, and all three were in perfect working condition. Happening upon the armory was a lucky find for them, but that still didn't make up for the fact that they were lost.

"I know this city like the back of my hand," Geoff assured him, getting Ray into a headlock. "Appreciate your surroundings for once, you little brat."

Ray pushed him off and huffed, but took a more thorough look around all the same. Tall glass buildings, expensive looking cars that were either upside down or charred, so many restaurants. He closed his eyes and strained his ears, and caught the faint sound of crashing waves. They were downtown.

"You know what this means, Rayray?" Geoff wrapped his arms around him as he steered them towards a clothing store. The windows were broken and glass littered the sidewalk out front. "Time for a little fun at the beach."

 

_They moved forward, my heart died  
They moved forward, my heart died_

 

Memories were weird.

Gavin was always very fond of seashells. He had a collection of them in a shoebox under his bed back at home. When they were kids he thought he was stealing from the ocean. He once found a rock he swore was magic, smooth as glass and pretty like a rainbow. He gave it to Ray.

Michael liked the sand, the way it could burn his feet during the day and soothe the ache at night. It slid through his fingers like water, and while he was always up for sand castles, he enjoyed just digging around.

Ryan enjoyed the sounds; crashing waves and the calling of birds. His spot was on a towel underneath an umbrella, a book in hand and sunscreen close by. On a good day, his gunslinger could coax him into playing in the water with him, but most of the time he was just a watchful eye.

Jack lived for the food. The grill was his pride and joy on these trips, and a pair of tongs was his weapon of choice. Back before he lived this life, Ray was satisfied with anything. But now, when the heat started to rise, he craved only one thing, and would settle for nothing less.

Geoff claimed to love the beach, but always ended up falling asleep in the sun like some kind of tattooed lizard. More often than not he had things written on his body in sunscreen that he didn't notice until a day later, and if he wasn't drunk before they arrived, they could find him in an inner tube drinking the day away.

Ray never cared for the place, but he liked when they all spent time together. During the winters they would travel up north for snow, which he himself had grown to like. In small doses at least. Their voices would bounce off the tightly packed mounds of frozen rain and surround the little clearing, making their small family of six seem that much bigger.

Where were they now?

 

_Please, please tell me what they look like  
Did they seem afraid of you?_

 

"You set a parking lot on fire?"

At this point Ray had no idea what he was eating. Geoff had just handed him something, told him it was food, and that was the end of that. He wasn't going to complain, seeing as how the destroyed arcade they were hiding in had little to speak of in terms of food. Geoff, biting off a piece of jerky, snorted.

"No. My friend set the parking lot on fire. I, being the upstanding citizen of society that I was, tried my damnedest to put it out."

Ray hummed, gulping down more root beer. When his guardian had brought out the warm bottle and placed it in front of him, he had refused to even touch it. Geoff had rolled his eyes and swore on both his liver and his kidneys that the drink contained no alcohol. He had been skeptical, but also very, very thirsty.

"Hey, Geoff?" He studied the dirty counter under his hands. "What do we do once we get to the Alter?"

The man beside him fell silent, which was noticeably jarring after hours of talking and giving Ray little peeks into his life before he became a kingpin. Secretly, Ray had imagined his guardian's life to be this big struggle. A grueling road filled with hardships and tough decisions and a mile long list of regrets. And while there was some pretty heavy stuff discussed, it seemed that Geoff Ramsey was just a colossal fucking dork. It was kinda nice.

"First, we pray that the backup generators are working." Geoff rubbed at his eyes, coughed. "Then we, ah, patch ourselves up. Maybe one of us will shower because they smell like piss—"

"That was your fault and you know it."

Geoff reached out and ruffled his hair, hand lingering just a bit. "Then we call for help. I know some people up north in the military. Hopefully they can send someone to get us."

So many questions danced across his tongue. Who were these supposed people? How would they help them? What about the others? What if nobody answered?

Ray was scared, more so than he's ever been, but Geoff was here. They were a team, the greatest team in the world! No matter how bad things got, as long as they were together, nothing would break them.

"Okay."

 

_They were kids that I once knew  
They were kids that I once knew_

 

School was a concept Ray only heard about on television.

As a wave one gunslinger, he never had a chance at a normal life. Never went to pre-school and learned about colors and shapes and sharing. Didn't go supply shopping with his parents or try on clothes that made him look like an idiot. There was no middle school crush, no high school sweetheart, no plans for college and no fear of the future.

He wondered if any of the passengers in that bus crash survived. The rusted, yellow vehicle sat overturned next to a subway entrance, and he wondered what the accident looked like. If anyone who had witnessed it connected the dots to the outbreak of whatever the fuck was killing them. He thought about babies and kids and teenagers and adults and the elderly. What was it like to live through all those stages, shifting and morphing and changing, yet staying the same at the core.

Did the creatures who hunted them have hopes and dreams once upon a time? Were they shy high school kids or loner adults, losers in their thirties or creepy fifty year old men. Did any of them have kids? What was it like, to wake up a normal person and become a monster. What was it like, praying and begging and crying, knowing the end was upon them but having no way to win, no way to survive.

What was it like to die?

 

 _I could say it, but you won't believe me_  
_You say you do, but you don't deceive me_  
_It's hard to know they're out there_  
_It's hard to know that you still care_

 

Even after all these years, Geoff was still a liar.

When he threw up on the side of the road, Ray laughed at him for finding the only bottled water that contained shit particles. When he tripped trying to climb a set of five stairs, Ray called him clumsy and cleaned up the scrape on his hand with his shirt sleeve. When he grew delirious and started clawing at the air around him, claiming to see creatures and walking trees, Ray began to panic.

His guardian should have been hard to carry, but his body was thin and frail and easily movable. Geoff, when he was lucid, gave him directions, all the while murmuring about how they would be alright once they reached the Alter. There was a first aid kit and medicine, plenty of safe food and drinking water. They would call his buddies up north who would send a helicopter to come get them. After they were all cleaned up, they would come back and get the others.

Ray managed to get them to a little motel before Geoff shit his pants. It should have been funny, something to tell the others about, blackmail material for when he wanted something ridiculous. But it wasn't. Geoff had cried, snotted on his shoulder as he turned on the thankfully still functional shower. He whimpered apologies as Ray undressed him, hissed in pain as the water touched the infected cut along his abdomen. Said it was from one of the raiders they fought a few weeks back. Said it was gonna clear up now that they had water to drink and soap and a place to rest. Geoff promised him they would be alright.

Perhaps he was only lying to himself now.

 

_Did you touch them, did you hold them?  
Did they follow you to town?_

 

Helplessness. Hopelessness. Pain. Anger. Regret. Sadness. Fear. Determination. Emptiness. How was it possible to feel all of those at once?

The deserted streets swallowed up the sound of his running footsteps, taking away his auditory senses until he was dizzy. It felt so wrong to hear nothing in a place normally dominated by voices and engines and people. Not a soul was to be found, infected or otherwise, and right now it was too easy to believe that he was the last person on the planet.

Ray didn't like silence. Not after years of being enveloped in laughter and crying and lame jokes and exited giggling. Time had gone in reverse, pulling him back to that dark, lonely room where no one cared if he was hungry or scared or needed a hug. That awful, isolated bubble that ate away at his sanity and stole the screams that escaped his mouth at night.

Being loved was something he had never thought about. He wasn't programmed to deal with affection, never learned how to express fondness or happiness, because they were feelings he didn't have. Primal instincts and instructions made up his existence, and he would have been content to die thinking that the greatest accomplishment in life was being used by others. But then that changed.

One man. One idiotic man with a heart bigger than his bank account ruined his life by taking him in and giving him a home. Had taught him what kisses meant and that it was okay to cry, that being perfect was unrealistic. That man had made him believe that he was just fine the way he was, that he loved him despite his background. The man he grew to think of as a father constantly put his life on the line to save him, something that Ray hated him for.

That man, his father, was a hero. Geoff Ramsey was a liar and a dork and cruel and compassionate and so full of everything that Ray never wanted to lose. That man was his entire world. That man saw Ray as something special, something important, something worthy of love and protection and happiness.

That man was gone, and with him went Ray's reason for living.

 

_They make me feel I'm falling down  
They make me feel I'm falling down_

 

Geoff had been dead a week when Ray arrived at the Alter.

It was shaped like a pyramid and colored like the sky during a storm. Ray had only ever heard about this place in theory. It was a bunker for all the crews in Achievement City. If things ever went to complete shit—a police hunt, the SWAT Team, air forces—then the big dogs would gather here, put their animosity aside, and band together to protect one another. At the core of all the trades and fighting, there was a twisted sense of community.

Ray couldn't care less. He hadn't encountered anyone on his journey here, and if anyone inside gave him problems, he would gladly introduce them to his gun. He wasn't here to sleep or make friends or hide like a scared child. He was on a mission, and as soon as he got what he needed he could return home.

Misery was an excellent distraction blocker. Any new or interesting sight that lived in the Alter was ultimately ignore. All the rooms or secret hiding spaces were deemed unnecessary and received no afterthought. It was entirely possible that Ray stumbled upon living souls inside of the bedrooms, but things that moved only had a brief appearance in his life before they stopped moving, so he wasn't certain.

Finally, after combing every single fucking inch of the stupid coward cave, Ray found what was meant to be the infirmary. It was a big room, bigger than the kitchen he ransacked earlier, and quiet. Beds were lined up against the wall, some covered by curtains, some not. Ray walked down the center of the room towards the back wall. A line of cabinets stood shoulder to shoulder, their transparent doors showcasing the prizes inside.

He didn't read the labels, just grabbed bottle after bottle and dumped it into his bag. Pills had become a prominent fixture in his life, though they did nothing besides give his guardian a sense of false hope. His seizures hadn't stopped when the world decided to end, and with each one Geoff grew more and more worried. Ray could see the fear in his eyes, the pain that the man tried to hide behind smiles and laughter. Geoff had been afraid of losing him, of being left alone in this empty void. He would beg him to stay just a little while longer, swore that they would make it out together as long as he _stayed_.

But Geoff was the one who left instead.

 

_Was there one you saw too clearly?  
Did they seem too real to you?_

 

Ray didn't watch the light leave his guardian's eyes.

He wanted to be the last thing Geoff saw, wanted to have his full attention one last time. But he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it. He would have to close his eyes for him, and that was too finite of a gesture. Instead, Ray held Geoff in his arms, running his fingers through his hair as his guardian whispered to him.

"You're gonna be okay, Rayray." Geoff spoke into the crook of his arm. "So brave. Strong."

The man was slumped over in his gunslinger's lap, most of his upper body on Ray's legs. He had stopped squirming around hours ago, and now only his chest moved, rising and falling in minute degrees. His eyes were closed.

"Wanted to take you to the water park."

Ray snorted even as his heart threatened to crack in two. "I can't swim, remember?"

Geoff sighed, and very weakly pinched the skin on the back of his hand. Ray didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I'd hold onto you. Wouldn't let you go." He circled a hand around his wrist and squeezed, frowning in pain as he shifted a little.

He truly was amazing. Geoff had fought for so long to stay alive; keeping the wound clean and scraping away any puss that leaked from the scabs. Even when facing death his main concern was his boy. The sarcastic little shit that gave him a purpose in life other than stealing and killing. His son in everything but blood.

"My most precious Ray.."

No one knows what their last words are going to be when they die. Death was like that one really annoying relative that calls once a week to talk about nothing. No matter how prepared you are for it, it has a way of taking you by surprise. Ray didn't like surprises. He didn't like the unknown. He thrived on organization and calculated movements. Being spontaneous was never in his plans.

"I love you, Geoff."

He had wanted to say it for so long now, but could never find the right moment. Love was a very special thing. He'd seen too many people toss it away on food or pets or two week flings. He hated those people, because those people were probably dead and never had to consider life without their hearts. They never held their world in their hands and rocked back and forth as the final breaths swept across their forehead in a farewell kiss. Those people did not watch Geoff die, and he hated them.

"I love you," he repeated, over and over and over again until he was shouting. Crying out into the night, screaming until his voice went hoarse. He sobbed the words into his guardian's chest, whispered them in his ear as his body shut down for the night.

If he couldn't be the last thing Geoff saw, he would at least be the last thing he heard.

 

_They were kids that I once knew  
They were kids that I once knew_

 

"I'm back!" Ray called as he entered the room.

He didn't receive an answer, but that was alright, he wasn't expecting one. Geoff had been in bed for days, not moving an inch like the lazy bastard he was. But that was alright, too. The man was a hard worker, he deserved a break.

"Check out what I found," Ray dipped into his bag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "I'd share, but you're on an alcohol break, remember?"

Geoff was quiet, probably too jealous to form a response. In all honesty Ray wished that he could share it. The bottle wasn't very big, but he doubted he would enjoy the taste. He had a bottle of water as well, but he set it aside. He knew what water tasted like. Besides, there was a first and last time for everything.

He took off his shoes and sat up against the headboard, backpack in between his legs. Sorting through the pills took a long time. He was able to identify the more known sleeping pills, but some of these he had never even heard of. He had to cross check the chemicals with the known pills until he ended up with seven bottles. Should be enough.

"I wish these had better favors," Ray sighed after swallowing another handful. "But this whiskey isn't so bad if I pretend it's old apple juice. That shit smells like beer if you leave it out. Did you know that?"

Geoff didn't answer, probably cause he didn't know, but didn't want to seem stupid. He could be such a baby sometimes. With a loud burp, Ray tried to put the bottle on the dresser. His momentum was too forceful, and he ended up missing the dresser and smashing the bottle against the floor. He swiveled his head towards Geoff, vision swimming, but his guardian was still out cold. A nap sounded pretty good right now.

Ray shimmied down the bed and curled up beside his guardian, using his hood as a barrier between Geoff's chest and his face. The old man hadn't showered in what smelled like days, and Ray didn't want to throw up and waste the horrible tasting candy he had just consumed. But as his eyelids started to droop, he realized that the stench really wasn't so bad.

His legs twitched and his head ached, so he clung tighter to Geoff even as drool pooled out the side of his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his head. Tangled strings danced in his view, neon and thick like spaghetti. He gagged, legs locking up, before going limp on top of his guardian.

Sleep came easy after that.

 

_Now they're all dead hearts to you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dead Hearts—Stars_


	3. Fire

 

Ryan stopped and looked down, looked behind him, beside him. The ground was empty of any manmade debris. Funny. He was sure he had stepped on a broken bottle.

 

_We can never go home  
We no longer have one_

 

Gavin hadn't spoken a word in three months.

In the beginning he never stopped talking. He would call out to the others, coming up with statistics for how far they could've gotten in a five hour time span. Surely someone was close by. Perhaps if they found one group, the four of them could search for the remaining two. He kept this up for three days.

When they stumbled upon a group of Infected, Gavin whispered that he knew who everyone was. That old homeless lady who fed cats, the fat man at the grocery store that gave him free samples, the car salesman, the woman from the flower shop. He was quiet enough that they were able to sneak by without being detected, but for hours he went on and on about how quickly the infection was spreading. He wondered if it was like the movies and it took a bite to be turned, or if the spores were air born. Just what was the infection exactly and where did it come from? This went on for weeks.

The first time he killed a raider he cursed like a sailor and trashed their safe house. He was furious! What kind of monsters attacked defenseless people who were just trying to survive? Pretending to be hurt, taking advantage of someone's kindness and good nature; It made him sick! He took a bat to every breakable object within eyesight. Then he took their food and spit on their map of places to hit. He never brought up the incident again.

The last time Ryan heard Gavin speak was after he got shot. The bullet had barely grazed him, but the boy acted as if one wrong move would send him to the grave. Even though he gagged at the sight of worms crawling under a rock, he was able to get up close and personal with the bleeding wound on his guardian's shoulder.

"We have to work together," he said in a robotic tone as he wiped away the blood. "There are no computers, and there are no interrogations. You cannot protect me in the ways you used to."

Ryan wanted to protest, because of course he could still protect the boy! Just because he was shooting different kinds of enemies didn't mean his aim would be off. He was a mercenary for Christ's sake, not some random Joe who worked a cushy office job and now suddenly had to fend for his life.

"We have to work together," Gavin repeated, tiny hands gripping his shoulders. Dim green eyes stared into his own, and Ryan missed the light that used to shine behind them. He wanted to bring it back.

"Alright," he sighed, not meeting his gaze. "Together."

 

_I'll help you carry the load  
I'll carry you in my arms_

 

The body gives up long before the mind.

Humans were programmed to want to survive, even in their darkest hours. Those unfortunate to be born with life threatening conditions latched onto hope before they learned how to spell the word. Learning disabilities, if the person were in the right care, were just extra obstacles. The word impossible did not exist unless the context was the fact that one was considering giving up. There was always another way, something to look forward to, something to dream about. A new goal was made every day, and no matter what there was a way to reach it.

Things like fragile hearts and frail bones did not care about hope. Poor eyesight and hearing loss thought nothing about future plans. Cancer and diabetes and leukemia; the body has a thousand ways to self-destruct. A shallow cut could mean bleeding to death. A damaged spine signified life with limited mobility. In comparison to the mind, where healing powers existed in the form of blind faith, the body was incredibly weak.

Gavin thought about this as he examined the marks on his body. He had grown accustomed to waking in the middle of the night, body wracked with pain. The first time it happened Ryan had rushed to his side, eyes bloodshot and vacant but filled with concern. Gavin had mimed biting his cheek in his sleep, and after a few minutes of sitting in silence, his guardian had laid back down and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep in the way that no longer fooled anyone.

It wasn't a conscious decision to stop talking, but Gavin supposed he started speaking less after the first bite. They had been running from a hoard for almost five days, and he was out of practice with observation. He felt the teeth sink into his ankle long before he saw the body crawling on the ground. Ryan was livid, but Gavin had been too tired to argue. He lied, which wasn't hard to do anymore, and put the incident out of his mind. Two nights later it felt like fire had been injected into his leg and was burning him from the inside out.

Each bite after that was easier and easier to deal with; the one above his elbow, the two on his torso, the one by his thigh, and the three overlapping ones that marred his shoulder. He made sure to wear clothing that covered it, and never undressed when Ryan could see. At night, when the pain flared up and tried to drag him under, he let the heat reach his neck before holding his breath until it receded. His logic was that as long as his head was clear, he wouldn't turn.

The body gives up long before the mind.

 

_The kiss of the snow  
The crescent moon above us_

 

Change arrived gradually.

The crew was gone, and so were the rules, and still Ryan found himself operating as if things were normal. He did his best to avoid wandering groups that had children, and the ones he couldn't only got clipped answers to questions before he ushered Gavin away. He turned a blind eye to infected that looked younger than eighteen, and started flying more than fighting when danger arose. He didn't think much of it, really. Saving ammo was important, and attracting unwanted attention by shooting everything in sight was counterproductive.

He didn't understand the flaw in this system until he tried to free a trapped rabbit that he caught and felt the hard press of a gun against the back of his head.

"Don't move." The voice was young. Far too young to be holding a gun. He couldn't tell if the child was male or female it was so young. Already he felt the blood draining from his face, leaving him lightheaded. All he could picture was Gavin, just eight years old, sitting in a dark room with nothing but the glow of a computer monitor lighting up his soft face. There's a gun next to the keyboard. He isn't very good with it, but he knows how to use it, and that's too much in itself. Weapons did not belong in the hands of children.

He felt more than heard the body drop to the ground behind him. Warmth seeped into the leg of his pants, and he almost made the mistake of looking down. But Gavin stopped him, placing his hand on top of his head. He tapped his left shoulder twice, the indication to stand up. Ryan kept his eyes forward, not sure of the expression on his face. Gavin grabbed his hand and started walking them down the path, and only after a significant amount of time passed did Ryan look towards him.

On his hip was a gun. In his hand was the rabbit.

 

 _Our blood is cold_  
_And we're alone  
But I'm alone with you_

 

Fire was eternal.

Before there was life, there was fire, Gavin was almost certain. Lightening stuck a tree and brilliant flames erupted, shining honey and scarlet, illuminating the darkness. When creatures weary of the shadows stumbled upon this dancing beacon, they spent centuries learning how to create it, how to harness its energy. When mobility became a necessary part of living, they tried to take it with them, for what was man without light there to guide him?

Ryan's lighter was silver and had his initials etched onto its smooth surface. He lit another bundle of dried leaves then added a few thin twigs and waited for them to catch. His blue eyes, once resembling the ocean on a cold winter, now had twin fires burning within. Gavin wondered if that light could reach his own eyes now, or if the green in them was doomed to be flat like moss. He no longer felt like himself, something he knew his guardian was aware of.

The Project did not believe in the afterlife. Time and time again they were taught that the life they had was a singular entity, and that anyone on the outside who said different was naive and foolish, cowards who regretted their existence but were too afraid of the unknown to take matters into their own hands. Death was inevitable, and it was their job to keep their guardians alive as long as possible. There was no such thing as immortality. Not even the stars lived forever. One day the sun would simply stop burning, and that would be the end of all life.

Ryan rubbed his hands together over the fire, flexing his fingers and rotating his wrists. The temperature dropped lower each night, and without proper shelter they were forced to revert to primitive means of living. Gavin didn't mind so much, which was shocking considering that he was taught to be reliant on technology. But he didn't spend the last six years being the Vagabond's gunslinger without picking up a few tricks.

Blue eyes that reflected the fire searched his face, and Gavin kept his gaze on the ground underneath his feet. Whatever Ryan saw made him sigh, and for whatever odd reason Gavin looked up into the sky. Dead starts twinkled above them, light that had burned out millions of years ago stretching across the inky black horizon. Gavin reached across the fire and took one of Ryan's hands, the uneasiness that had crawled under his skin subsiding.

He wondered if Ryan believed in the hereafter.

 

_If I say shut your eyes  
If I say look away_

 

Ryan needed his gunslinger.

James Haywood died alongside his first kill back in his hometown. The cheerful theater student that took up work out of town and left his trusting, clueless parents behind. That naive man knew nothing about the years that were to come. The sleepless nights and the waking nightmares. The paranoia and the constant anxiety. James did not live long enough to have regrets, but Ryan did.

He regretted taking that very first job, the one that was supposed to be easy and ended with him fleeing the state. He regretted not covering his tracks from the very beginning, giving leverage to assholes that wanted nothing more than to intimidate him. He hated that he stumbled upon Ramsey and Pattillo, that he didn't leave after their first clusterfuck of a robbery. His miserable life was filled with What If's and What Should Have Been's. But his biggest mistake was sleeping two feet away, huddled in a hoodie that used to warm another body.

He knew about the bites. A part of him had expected something like this to happen. Gavin was a walking example of Murphy's Law, so the only solace Ryan had was that he would make sure his gunslinger didn't turn into one of those things. And he didn't, but it wasn't because of anything he did. Saying that the boy was magic would be idiotic, but in the dead of night it was the only word that came to mind. Even luck was too weak of a word to describe the impossibility that was Gavin's very existence.

The boy should not be alive. It was a simple observation even though it twisted Ryan's insides to think about. Yet here he was, sleeping semi-peacefully after his nightly battle with the infection traveling through his veins. From what Ryan had witnessed, those fits were very reminiscent to a seizure. However, come morning, Gavin would be full of energy, ready to move on to their next destination. Which was nowhere.

Ryan did not fear death. He had come so close to losing his life in the many years of this job that the concept no longer phased him. Seeing the looks on his enemies faces when he greeted their guns and knives with a genuine smile was incredibly entertaining. No one seemed to understand his way of thinking, and he had long given up on trying to explain it. Death was inevitable, and once it decided to take you, that was the end of everything. In all honesty that sounded like the greatest gift.

Gavin should be dead, but he wasn't. The bite marks that covered his skin should be festering and bubbling and disgusting, but they resembled silvery faded scars. Ryan should not care about this child that was forced into his life, but he did. Because this child ran towards him when others ran away. This child was committed to being by his side until the bitter end, with no regard for his own safety or wellbeing. Gavin was willing to defy the laws of chaos in order to ensure that he was not alone.

Ryan regretted not loving him sooner.

 

_Bury your face in my shoulder  
Think of a birthday_

 

Gavin was tired.

The day's blended together in a meaningless cycle that got longer and longer as the weeks passed. They stuck to the woods rather than the main roads, and went searching for food at night. Gavin was no longer careful about being bitten, having already conditioned his body to fight against the infection, but he made sure Ryan stayed clean.

In the video games he used to watch Ray and Michael play, there was always an end goal. A flag, a check mark, a boss fight. There was always something behind the hours long journey—not counting fruitless side quests. The life he lived now had no pay off. Surviving to live another day didn't get him a trophy or an achievement, nor was it setting up for a bigger event. He was no longer living, but existing, and that wasn't any fun.

Gavin's only saving grace was his guardian. When he woke up each day and saw the man sleeping beside him, a new spark was ignited inside of him, small and flickering like a match. He promised himself just one more day. If Ryan were here, then he could push on just one more day. The man wouldn't even touch his gun now, just kept it on his hip for show, and Gavin had to be with him to protect him. When they went to bed, Gavin bargained with himself. If Ryan were still alive in the morning, he would stay just one more day. If he wasn't, then he wouldn't.

Gavin liked holding Ryan's hand. He could feel his pulse when he pressed their wrists together. When he closed his eyes, he pretended that they had the same heartbeat. Sometimes Ryan would do the same, and so they'd sit together like that, sharing the same space. His guardian communicated nonverbally now as well, and Gavin missed the sound of his voice. The quiet reminded him too much of Before.

Before he was assigned a guardian Gavin had nothing to look forward too. His days were filled with the same lather, rinse, repeat pattern, and the only obstacle he had to get around was not being terminated. He worked hard to be the best in his field. Things like fear and insecurity were not tolerated, so he hid them deep, deep down inside and kept his eyes forward and his mouth shut. Gavin never thought he would feel that way again after Geoff bought him, but he was wrong.

Time felt like an hourglass that was filled on both sides; meaningless. Nothing moved forward, nothing changed, nothing got better or worse. The world was paused in this eternal grayscale, melting colors and stealing the earth's energy. What signified another day passing when the sun and the moon's lights shined the same?

If this was Limbo, could Hell be any worse?

 

_The things you put in your head  
They will stay here forever_

 

Ryan was worried.

He had lost track of the days a while back, and now could no longer determine just when it was. The weather wasn't helping either, staying the same chilly but mildly sunny no matter how far they traveled. At times he believed they were going in circles, but he never voiced his concerns. He doubted he would even get a reaction, anyway.

Gavin had stopped responding to him completely. He wouldn't eat, didn't sleep, and every time they came across infected, Ryan had to stop him from running towards them. He tried everything he could think of to get him to talk, even going so low as to beg, but nothing worked. And he knew the boy could hear him because those sad, green eyes would stare at him pleadingly after every attempt.

If he had to guess, it was probably September. Gavin's unbirthday present was hidden in the vacuum closet at the apartment. The boy never cleaned up after himself, so Ryan figured it was the perfect hiding spot. He was unsure about the model rocket, and a science kit was far too messy. In the end he settled on a new watch and a set of inflatable planets. He even bought string so that Gavin could hang them up around the place.

That night they slept under a canopy of leaves, nothing but a torn sheets to keep them warm. Gavin's hand was small and cold in his, the bite on his wrist standing out against his tan skin. Ryan stared at his sleeping face, the purple bruises under the boy's eyes making him frown. At home, he slept in fits and bursts, always working on something. He didn't want to forget to erase footage and make Geoff angry. Just thinking about those tired smiles made Ryan want to throttle Ramsey, but the moment passed quickly. In truth, he would give just about anything to see him and the others again.

The Vagabond was a solitary creature. He preferred to work alone, because the more people on a job, the more likely it is that someone will fuck up. When you only had yourself to look out for, life got less complicated. A 'friend' was just a fancy term for scapegoat, and even those weren't always reliable. The Vagabond prided himself on not caring about anything but his life and the job. But Ryan?

He had a son.

 

 _Our blood is cold_  
_And we're alone, love  
But I'm alone with you_

 

Nearly half a year had passed since Ryan heard Gavin speak.

Despite his best efforts they had migrated back to the city, and were now holed up in their old apartment. All the food in the fridge had rotted, and a fine layer of dust covered every surface. He no longer acknowledged the hollow feeling in his stomach that symbolized hunger, too focused on getting Gavin to stay hydrated. His bites were now red and blotchy, and the skin surrounding those areas was faintly grey. But he was positive that if they just held out a little while longer then—

"I want to stop."

When Gavin was ten he accidentally locked himself in the pantry. When Ryan found him after returning from a job—hours later—the boy's face was covered in tear tracks and his voice was so hoarse from crying that he could barely speak. Ryan never wanted to see him like that again, yet here he was, wearing one of his old jackets. His face was drawn and his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked so small.

"I want to stop, Ryan." His voice cracked on his name. They were in the living room, huddled together on the couch. He thought Gavin was sleeping. Why..?

"No," Ryan breathed, confusion laced with fear. "No, it's okay. We're going to be okay. I just need to.."

He didn't know _what_ he needed to do, besides stop this conversation in its tracks. Of course, he'd entertained the idea on his own, but he always dismissed it immediately. The Vagabond did not give up, not even when the rest of the world did. But Gavin was looking at him with such big, tired eyes. That spark of hope that always lit up the green orbs was nonexistent, and now only shadows remained.

"They told us not to believe in the afterlife," Gavin said softly. "But if there is one, I'll find you. I won't stop until we're together again."

Ryan wanted to tell him to stop. There was no need to find each other because they weren't splitting up! For years he's been afraid of losing the boy. Had spent sleepless nights worried that some rival gang would infiltrate the base while he was away, or that the Project would wipe his identity away while he wasn't looking and send back a lifeless husk. In the beginning he was correct about not wanting some kid around him all day because now he was useless without him. He had fought so hard to keep Gavin safe. Like hell he was just going to give up now.

"Ryan?" Tiny, cold hands pressed against his cheeks, and emerald eyes demanded his full attention. His stomach twisted into knots when he saw that match flame of a spark behind those eyes. His boy was supposed to be loving life, having fun and making mistakes. Instead he was propositioning a suicide.

"You said we had to work together." Ryan hated that he was crying, but did nothing to stop the tears from flowing. Gavin crawled into his lap and tucked his head under his chin, gripping tightly to his shirt. Ryan wrapped his arms around his gunslinger and hid his face in his hair, hopelessness washing over him like a wave. Drowning him.

"I'll find you," Gavin whispered again, nuzzling his shoulder. "And then we'll find the others."

Ryan thought about the gifts in the closet just a few steps away. He thought about the past six years, how quickly things had changed. In the days that followed Gavin's decision, he thought about a lot of things. The human mind was incredible, storing away memories and getting rid of useless information. He spent hours lying with the boy in his arms, digging through his cluttered brain to find the little pieces of James Haywood that he had hidden away.

He hoped there was an After. For Gavin's sake.

 

 _Help me to carry the fire_  
_We will keep it alight together  
Help me to carry the fire_

 

"One, two, pull on three. Okay?"

He didn't want to do this. The suggestion, the planning, the very motions he was going over in his head went against all of his basic instincts. Gavin was meant to Protect, but here he was doing the opposite. He wanted to be the one to do it, though. He didn't trust his guardian to leave when he did, and the thought of leaving Ryan here by himself hurt almost as much as what he was going to do.

"Why?" It should have been easy. This wasn't the first time someone put a gun to his head, but the context was vastly different. Back then Ryan had laughed in the face of death, confident in his skills to escape. What was a mortal's weapon to an almighty god? Now he had trouble just keeping his hands steady. He was afraid of pressing in too hard.

Gavin looked positively sheepish, but kept his gaze steady. "I want us to hear each other as we go." He swallowed past the painful lump in his throat. "If we can't finish saying it, then we aren't really gone."

Ryan wanted to tell him that things didn't work that way, but instead he smiled. It was difficult work getting his muscles to respond that way now. "As long as we pull at the same time." Gavin nodded so hard he jostled his arm.

"We can read each other's minds, remember? We're very alike."

"Yes. We are."

Ryan used his free arm to bring Gavin closer, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. Gavin's skinny arm was wrapped around his neck, grip just a little too tight. He looked somber, but not nervous, which said a lot about how long he must've been thinking about this. Ryan's eyes darted to the gun he held against his boy's temple before returning to his face. He felt...calm. Like a cleansed state of mind after unwanted plans were canceled.

 _'I love you'_ he wanted to say, but didn't. It felt wrong to do so now in these final moments. Like the situation was forcing his hand rather than a genuine sentiment. Still, Gavin seemed to understand without him explaining anything. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth before he took a deep breath. He pressed his forehead more firmly to Ryan's, then closed his eyes. He couldn't tell if his guardian did the same, but he sure hoped so.

 _'I'll find you'_ he swore into the depths of his mind, as if he could communicate telepathically with the man in front of him. Sitting in his guardian's lap, their arms wrapped around each other, it almost felt like he could.

Nothing left but the sound of their shared heartbeat, thumping in time to the pressure against their temples. In another life, perhaps Gavin died first, unable to reject the infection surging through his body. Maybe Ryan hesitated just a second too long and was blown to bits by someone just as lost as he was. Those lives, if they existed, didn't matter. What mattered was the here and now.

And here and now, they were together.

  
"One."

  
"Two."

  
"Thr—"

 

_It will light our way forever_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No Sound But the Wind—Editors_


	4. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Optional fluff chapter! I'm a wimp and had to write something nice after that pain, but if you're satisfied with how the story ended, you don't have to read this.)

 

_Long ago, before we met_   
_I dreamed about you_   
_The peace you'd bring_   
_The songs we'd sing_   
_The way you'd make things new_

 

Thunder loud enough to wake the dead greeted Michael at an ungodly hour early one morning. Or late one night. It was too dark to tell, and he couldn't read the clock from his position on Jack's chest. His whole body felt heavy and sore, and as he sat up he winced at the horrible crick in his neck. What the fuck happened?

"Pumpkin?" Jack sleepily reached out for him, half awake but sounding more alert than Michael felt. His guardian rubbed at his face before turning over to read the clock. "It's three in the morning. Everything okay?"

 _Was_ everything okay? Michael rubbed his neck as he looked around the unfamiliar room. The walls and floor both had wood paneling, and the bed he was in was not the one he slept on at home. The bedspread didn't match the simple blue comforter Jack had. This one was brown with red leaves stitched into it. The window on the far side of the room was covered with a matching curtain, and the light that shone through the cracks was soft and cold. 

"Where are we?" He asked, stretching out his aching muscles. "And why do I hurt all over?"

Jack sat up as well and Michael finally saw his face. He looked terribly tired, heavy bags under his usually bright eyes. He had a bandage on his forehead, right between his eyes, and several shallow scars covered his face and neck. Michael reached up to gently prod his cheek, and that got the man to smile.

"A very bad weapons deal and a four hour car chase is what happened." He yawned big, a leisurely lion waking from a well deserved nap. "The warehouse was swarming with cops and traitors. Felt like we were in some kind of movie."

A warm, gentle hand carded through his hair. Michael immediately moved closer, curling up against Jack. "You had a nasty fall from a few stories up. Luckily, there was a stack of old mattresses that broke your fall."

Michael grimaced, thinking about his sore back. Damn things probably had broken springs and cardboard bases. His eyes were drawn back to the bandage that covered Jack's forehead.

"What about you?" He honestly didn't remember much of the fighting, but if his guardian got hurt, he hadn't done a very good job of protecting him. But Jack smiled reassuringly and kissed his temple.

"I banged my head getting into the car. You insisted I cover it. Just in case." Jack wrapped his other arm around him, completely enveloping him in warmth. Whatever confusion or discomfort Michael still felt quickly vanished. The details were fuzzy, but those didn't matter.

They were together, just like he promised.

 

_Then one day, you arrived_   
_I heard your angel cry_   
_Helpless, small, and perfect_   
_Welcome to your life_

 

Ray shaking and gasping in his sleep was never something Geoff wanted to wake up to. The boy thrashed in his arms, clawing at the air and kicking his legs, only getting more tangled up in the covers. Groggy, Geoff pinched his nose closed until vacant eyes shot open, and the trembling stopped.

"Geoff?"

"Ray?"

".. Don't feel so good."

Geoff helped him sit up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Ray groaned and wrapped his arms around his middle, debating on laying back down or running to the bathroom. A wastebasket was suddenly placed in front of him, and just seeing it made his decision. He vaguely registered his guardian rubbing his back as he threw up, but his major concern was keeping the sick away from his clothes.

"There was a little mix up last night," Geoff said in between his gagging. "You chugged a glass of Jack Daniels thinking it was apple juice."

He distinctly remembered the look on his gunslinger's face when he realized what had happened. Three bottles of travel sized mouth wash were used to get rid of the taste, but Ray felt fine the rest of the day. Of course, his body was too young to handle that kind of alcohol content, so here they were. Thank god he brought in the wastebasket from the bathroom.

"I hate you," Ray said without any heat. "And you stink." Geoff snorted and put the wastebasket back on the floor. "I still can't believe you hid in a dumpster."

"Well, what else was I gonna do? Get captured?"

"At least you wouldn't smell."

Ray didn't seem to mind so much, though. He pressed his face into Geoff's shoulder and squeezed him tight, his heart beating uncomfortably loud in his ears. Geoff wrapped an arm around his waist and rubbed his back, pressing a kiss into his hair. His boy had been so brave, climbing across the beams of the warehouse to reach the other side when they got separated. Geoff had shit his pants when he saw him, eyes bulging out of his skull, terrified whimpers threatening to give away Ray's position. He made it though, in the end. In the end things turned out fine.

They were together now, so things were okay.

 

_And on that day, I made a vow_   
_Whispered and true_   
_No matter what, no matter how_   
_I made this promise to you_

 

"Found you."

Gavin crawled right into Ryan's lap, uncaring of the book in the other's hands. He got comfy, too, wiggling around until he settled against his chest, legs tucked in just so, arms around his middle. He took several deep breaths, taking in the scent of gunpowder and rust.

"Bad dream?" Ryan spoke softly, like he was afraid to disturb the air with his sound waves. Gavin shook his head, rubbing his cheek against the collar of his shirt, sighing in contentment.

"You weren't there when I woke up." The boy didn't sound sad, more like he was stating a fact. Still, he butted his head under Ryan's chin until the man started carding his fingers through his hair. Ryan didn't question his cat impression, more than happy to hold him after the night they had. When things had gone south an exploding barrel had kept them apart. Green eyes searched for him through the fire, and a panicked cry of his name was drowned out by screaming and gunshots. After being reunited, Ryan kept a hand on him at all times, never leaving his side until about an hour ago when he got up to use the bathroom and decided to read.

"I don't like when we're separated," Gavin whispered, already sounding like he's on his way back to sleep. "You make bad choices when you're alone."

Well if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black. Not to say that he was wrong, just that the irony was incredibly amusing. Ryan had lived a long, hard life before his gunslinger was even born, and a lot of that time he had spent on his own. It was a dark time, filled with fear and doubt and anxiety. Those feelings have faded over time, but never fail to reappear at the precise moment he doesn't want them to. But the boy in his arms thought him to be fearless, immortal, untouchable. For Gavin, Ryan was a safe place.

"I'm glad you found me," he murmured after Gavin dozed off, then picked up his book and continued where he left off.

Maybe one day he'd say it to his face.

 

_I will cling, I will clutch_   
_I'll hold onto you, I won't turn away_   
_I won't leave, I won't go_

 

They had breakfast together, the six of them. Jack made several stacks of pancakes and a truckload of bacon and eggs, and everyone praised the man that kept them from turning into savages that hunted in the woods. Somehow, Michael got roped into doing the dishes, but he had a great view of the crystal blue lake out the back patio doors, so he didn't mind.

After showering and changing clothes, the crew retired to the living room to skim the news. Reports of the gun fight from last night were in the local channel, and so far the police had no leads as to where the Fakes were hiding. It was a little sad, really. Four hours of a daring car chase, only to go home with empty hands. Sad for the police, anyway.

Before lunch Gavin and Michael took a dip in the lake. They splashed around, took turns doing cannonballs from a low hanging branch—much to Jack's subconscious discomfort—and skipped stones. Ray joined them for that, claiming he could get his the farthest on the first try. No one berated him when he simply threw the rock instead of skipping it, but by then the heavy afternoon sun had zapped their energy. The three sat together on the dock and simply existed in the same space together, feet swishing around in the cool water.

Geoff made dinner, all the while complaining about the lack of proper spices. The log cabin was cozy, warm in the cool months, spacious and roomy, but it was a safe house above all else. Despite being told this, the man still insisted they stock up on essentials when the heat died down. No one argued, too afraid to voice their opinions. But they were all thinking the same thing.

Nobody wanted to leave, not really. It was safe out here where no one knew who they were. There was no loud, bothersome city noise, no artificial lights to hide the stars. The air was fresh, bringing in the scent of damp earth and wood. There was room to run and chase each other, places to hide and rocks to climb and throw. The beds were comfy, the ever stocked fridge was filled with what looked like all their favorites, and against all odds there was a closet filled with board games and gaming consoles. Geoff even found his spices behind the blender.

So they stay for a few days. Or maybe it's a week. Perhaps forever. Eventually time loses all meaning, and they forget to check the news, and thoughts about Los Santos and money and drugs and power and guns are slowly forgotten. Instead, there's swimming and campfires and blanket forts and card games. At night they all go out to watch the stars, trying to count them, naming as many constellations as they can remember. Sometimes Jack reads them books, or Ryan tells tales of his adventures before the crew, or Geoff makes up ghost stories. The lads reenact movies; Ray providing the soundtrack while Gavin and Michael take turns playing different characters.

There's laughter and hugs and _I love_ _you's_. One by one they let their guard down, itchy trigger fingers being replaced by tickling ones. For the first time in what feels like forever, they don't have to look over their shoulder when they go outside. Screams aren't an indicator of pain, and headaches are the result of too much ice cream. Paradise didn't look like this in the books, but they didn't care. Here they are safe. Here they are happy. Any pain they felt has been left behind, and all that remained was bliss.

There is eternal peace.

 

_I will stay with you all our days_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Our Days—Jeff Williams & Casey Lee Williams


End file.
